John arrived at his desk five minutes before nine a.m. with a Starbucks in hand. He was greeted by a list of unread emails, which he went through one after another. Normally he then found time to read the Wall Street Journal at his desk, but not this morning.

An email from Kevin, who was the global head of mergers and acquisitions and Rob’s boss, was direct and to the point:

"John, The management committee will need to approve any deal to buy Wellco before it can go ahead. If you could present the financials tomorrow at 3:00 p.m. Make sure you cover off all the legal and tax risks. See you then."

John went into Rob’s office and enquired whether he’d seen the summons.

Rob looked up from the letter he was writing longhand and clicked on his IBM computer. John knew from experience that Rob rarely looked at his email, still relying on the telephone to conduct business.

Rob read it and smirked. “This is your chance, Sport. I think you’re ready to do this one by yourself.”

“You’re not coming?” John’s voice revealed his disappointment.

“I’ll leave it to you.”

John stood there thinking how best to play this. He’d feel a lot better with Rob by his side. “You’ve always been better at the politics than me,” John suggested, trying to play to his boss’s good side.

“I’m beyond all that, so you better learn fast,” said Rob good-naturedly.

“So am I,” retorted John, cheekily.

Rob chuckled. “Unfortunately, this is the price of being successful. You’ll do great and it will be good for you to have more visibility with senior management.”

This both was and wasn’t what John wanted to hear.

As if reading his mind, Rob continued. “You gotta be more careful with what you wish for.”

John wasn’t looking forward to walking into the lion’s den without him.

John had the team work till midnight on the presentation. He even made Penny stay back to help with the typing and pagination. It wasn’t necessary, but John was stressed and wanted all hands on deck. She was officially Rob’s personal assistant, but looked after John as well. She had long dark hair, a sharp wit and artsy flair.

When 2:50 p.m. arrived the next day, John picked up the presos, ready to go.

“Have fun,” Penny said playfully.

“Do you want to go in my place?” John asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Wouldn’t be any fun without you.”

John smirked, his nerves leaving him for a moment. He and Penny had exchanged light-hearted flirting, masquerading as banter for years now. About his age, Penny was petite and attractive in an ordinary way. Even if it hadn’t been a bit close to home, John would never consider dating her. She wasn’t his type, and while quick-witted, she lacked that je ne sais quoi that appealed to him.

The meeting was being held on the top floor. John arrived promptly to find an empty meeting room. Three sides were plastered with expensive paintings. The fourth looked onto an atrium, where the bank’s trading floor sat below. A mahogany boardroom table, seating 18, sat empty.

John peered into the abyss. Terraced rows of traders and salespeople were yelping on the phone, hollering orders to various stock exchanges or huddled, drinking coffee. They were a bunch of fear-driven, foul-mouthed, sweating jocks in overdrive. Mac came to mind and John smirked at the thought.

John took a seat in the middle of the table and glanced at his watch. He was a tad early. When senior executives dribbled in over the next few minutes, John said “hello,” or nodded, which largely went ignored. A man in a three-piece brown herringbone suit walked in last, sat down next to John and cleared his throat. That triggered Kevin, who sat at the head of the table and was chairing the meeting.

“Thanks gentlemen. John here, who works in Mergers and Acquisitions, is proposing to buy Wellco on behalf of the bank,” he began. “Wellco is the mid-western hospital network that’s found itself in trouble. I’ve asked John to brief us on the proposed deal, including tax and legal risks for the bank.”

John had worked out the sales pitch before he’d even started due diligence on the company months before. He started off, “Hospitals are essentials to Governments as well as people; they are necessary in good times and bad.”

“So why then has the company gone broke,” the three-piece interrupted in a stiff English accent.

John was caught off guard. “It’s just burdened with too much debt,” he said nonchalantly, despite the adrenalin coursing through him.

John ran through the slides, taking them through the financials first. It showed how much money they should make. As he went, the guy in the three-piece suit, who John still hadn’t been introduced to, checked the numbers with a calculator and peppered John with questions as he went. John was having to think on the run.

After one inane question, John shot back, “Is this your first M&A deal?” While John was incredulous, he immediately wished the words hadn’t come out of his mouth.

“I’m asking the questions and you answer them,” the Englishman commanded.

John thought he sounded as well as looked like Thurston Howell the Third. He spoke in a plummy tone, more appropriate for a school principal than a banker. A couple of people smirked at this. John held his poker face for a second to send the message that he wasn’t rattled. But he was.

He went on to explain the nuances of the deal, suspecting he was being tested.

“And you report to Rob Thomas,” the Brit continued. “Where is he?”

He is Thurston Howell, thought John, annoyed.

John stumbled for an answer, knowing he should sound more eloquent but was feeling the pressure. Kevin interrupted and explained Rob was sitting the meeting out to give John the opportunity to present his first deal by himself. John immediately felt smaller than a child.

“So you are proposing to buy these hospitals and medical centers on behalf of the bank.” Thurston surmised. “We’re a bank, not a healthcare provider John. And if I’m not mistaken, you’re a banker and not a doctor. Have you thought what will happen to the bank’s reputation if this deal goes wrong, or a doctor kills someone whilst we own the hospitals?” Mr Howell asked.

“The legal risk stays with the hospital network. We’ll just be a passive shareholder, that’s it.”

“They’ll sue our ass off because we have the money,” said Thurston. John went a shade of red and he sensed the management committee was enjoying his obvious discomfort. The tension was so thick you’d need an icepick to break through it. Without anything to say, he just sat there in the awkward silence and self-pity.

“It sounds like we need to talk about what is in the best interest of the bank here,” said Thurston, dismissing John. This guy must have been a prefect at an English boarding school.

“Isn’t that the purpose of this meeting,” John asked amazed, feeling his big chance slipping between his fingers.

Kevin interrupted. “John, sorry, but we are going to have to ask you to step out so we can make a decision whether the bank should proceed with the deal.”

The anger rushed through John. He had to suppress it; to do otherwise would have been unprofessional. He made his way out of the boardroom, temples throbbing.

John went straight to the ground floor and out of the building. He needed some lunch and to release some steam. When back at his desk, he took his jacket off then walked into Rob’s office.

“Not your best day?” asked Rob.

“Not by a long shot,” John replied.

“Kevin and I had a conference call with the Head of Structured Finance.”

John shook his head unconsciously.

“Anyway, Structured Finance is going to work with us on this one given the potential legal risks of hospitals and medical procedures going wrong.” John’s mind was racing so fast that he didn’t hear the rest of what Rob actually said. He grasped enough though to realize Thurston would be looking over John’s shoulder, effectively telling him what to do. Fucking coat-hanger.

“You’re kidding me?”

“I’m not, Champ. And it gets better. They’ll get a quarter of our profit.”

John was livid. “What?”

“That’s the deal, Sport. It’s done. Kevin’s agreed to it, so get on-board.”

Rob’s even tone frustrated the hell out of John at times like this. John sat there in silence, embarrassed and not knowing what to say, thinking what, if anything, could be salvaged from this man-made disaster. He decided retiring hurt was the smartest option as he’d said too much this day already.

John remained angry through Friday and found himself still bitter on Saturday. He was sitting with his neighbor, Liam, and Liam’s nine-year-old daughter, Scarlett, at Moroc, thinking about whether or not there was a more child-friendly breakfast place in the neighborhood. Liam had promised Scarlett that they’d go to the park after breakfast.

For much of the six years John had lived next door to Liam, they had ignored each other. Liam worked at an advertising agency and went to work each day in Converse, jeans, and a T-shirt. Standing next to each other in the hallway, the contrast between them made it obvious that they were from very different worlds. Probably because of this, neither had bothered to even greet one another for the first three years, but after they had, they had gradually become friends. Proximity was part of it, but John also appreciated how direct and authentic Liam was. At work, John was surrounded by plenty of people for 18 hours a day, some he never even bothered to say hello to. But after getting to know Liam, John realized the man stood out from the crowd.

“What are we doing with our lives?” John asked him, feeling contemplative.

“What do you mean we?” Liam glanced to see if Scarlett was paying attention. She was coloring in her book, oblivious to them.

“Okay, what am I doing?”

“Good question.” After a brief pause, Liam continued. “The way I see it, you’re a peasant. You work up to a hundred hours a week.”

John shrugged and then smirked. “Yeah, but they pay me for it.”

“You’re still a Mexican, amigo.”

John smiled despite not really appreciating the description.

“So maybe you earn half a million dollars a year. You don’t have time for a relationship—you barely have time to catch up with your friends.”

“What are you talking about?”

“When’s the last time we did this?”

John searched his memory. “Last month.”

“What about your family? Seen your mom recently?”

John made a face. “She could get on the phone or come over and see me for a change. Besides, I’ll see her at Annie and Hank’s farewell next weekend.”

“The point is, while you might get paid plenty, you’re living the life of a dog because you’re not living your own life. It’s the bank’s.”

“What would I do if I wasn’t doing deals?” John asked exasperated.

“You’d get a life.”

John smirked. “Thanks for nothing.”

“What is it you want to do?”

“Banking is all I know.”

“Ripping people off is all you know? Come on. Your skills must be more transferable than that. What exactly do you do all those hours anyway?”

“I buy and sell companies or the properties from under them.”

“It’s a glass-half-empty day, isn’t it? I thought investment bankers were the guys that could make anything happen.”

John sighed. “You’ve confusing us with hedge fund managers.”

“Seriously, what do you do all day long?”

“I buy companies for the lowest price possible and then sell either them or the properties they own for the highest.”

“Sure. But what exactly do you do? I honestly have no idea.”

John counted off his duties on his fingers, a little frustrated. He wanted empathy, not questions.

Liam snorted. “You sound like an used-car salesman in an Armani suit.”

“Bingo. Although that’s probably an insult to the fine men and women in the used-car industry,” said John sarcastically.

“Seriously though, you’re a project manager or what we call a traffic cop.”

John sat and pondered it. “Maybe.”

“An overpaid one to be sure.”

John was momentarily embarrassed by his $325,000 a year job. Was it worth it? But he recovered quickly. “A second ago you were calling me a minimum-wage Mexican.”

“So tell me, what’s a hedge fund?”

“It’s just like a normal mutual fund, except riskier. They can sell stocks they don’t own and they usually borrow a lot of money so that they can bet big.”

Liam laughed at the thought of selling something you don’t own. “How can they do that?”

“Mmm.” John paused. It was a good question. “They are started by young hot shots with math degrees.”

“Why don’t you do that?"John chuckled at the thought of a degree in mathematics. “So what about you?” he said, changing the subject. “What’s new?”